/bite my hand all you want, I don't care as long as you're healthy.
I called Mama yesterday, and she said Tigger is all well and healthy now. She's back to normal! I can't express how relieved I am. It scares me to see her constantly gagging and looking weak. Everytime she's sick, it'd always made me think of the worst possible thing that could happen.
Tigger leaving me, forever.
*shivers*
/see? a sick Tigger is not a pretty sight.
She's turning 8 soon. And they say one year of a cat's life is equivalent to seven years of a human's life. So technically she's 56 years old now? That's not old, kan?
/albeit super cute, this is not a pretty sight either.
I can't wait to get back home and hug her and hold her over my shoulder and parade her around the house. A healthy Tigger means she'll hate me for holding her for too long and will scratch my back before kicking and jumping off me like a real champion.
Good old times.
Oh and I miss this bundle-of-fur-and-dust-all-wrapped-in-one, too:
:)
p/s: If you're thinking how I don't seem to have a life because I talk about my cats like mad then congratulations, you are right. I don't have a life. My cats are a part of me, my cats are my family. And anyways, I always said I'll grow old with 20 cats by my side and will die a lonely woman. :P
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